


duets of growing up

by yum_cy



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Poetry, Post-Canon, Trauma, and bilbo having to tell him that it isnt possible, bilbo is actually an uncle, but hes totally a dad, frodo desperately searching for some semblance of normal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-30
Updated: 2020-07-30
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:42:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25600786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yum_cy/pseuds/yum_cy
Summary: [ When you were young,You thought adventureWas windswept hairAnd swords that never stained.Now your sword is slick with bloodAnd the grip is smooth with sweat.Did you burn your tongueOn all those stories you devoured?Did you lose your breathIn the heat? ]orA conversation between Bilbo and Frodo after the war is over and the world is healing.
Relationships: Bilbo Baggins & Frodo Baggins
Comments: 7
Kudos: 8





	duets of growing up

When you were young,

You scrambled for any glimpse

Beyond the walls and hedges,

Beyond the gardens and brunches,

Beyond----

When you were young,

You thought adventure

Was windswept hair

And swords that never stained.

Now your hair is matted to your face

With sweat

And blood

And vomit

And dirt

And ash-----

Now your sword is slick with blood

And the grip is smooth with sweat.

Did you burn your tongue

On all those stories you devoured?

Did you lose your breath

In the heat?

_Uncle,_

_Do you remember_

_The way the path stretched on and on?_

_Uncle,_

_Were the flames just as hot_

_From dragons as from volcanoes?_

_Uncle,_

_Did you ever wish your eyes_

_Would stop seeing?_

I told you stories

Of impenetrable mountains

And dwarves with spines of steel.

I told you stories

Of dragons with gold-dipped scales

And trolls more comedic than dangerous.

But my heart aches in my chest

With trolls that almost spelled my end,

And dragons who forced the world

To its knees.

My hands shake

With dwarves laid in ice and blood,

And mountains that crumbled with greed.

My boy,

I did not tell you of the blood on my hands.

My boy,

I did not tell you of the places the Sun doesn’t reach.

My boy,

I’m sorry.

For blood streaked grass,

For burning hair,

For cold water,

For the dripping,

sticking,

aching world I left you.

_Uncle,_

_Did you recognize the Shire_

_When your journey was over?_

_Uncle,_

_I can’t feel my feet_

_Against the Sun warmed dirt._

_I can’t feel the way my parents laughed_

_In the spring air._

_Uncle,_

_Did the Shire recognise you?_

_I don’t think I can find a home_

_In the grass that sways in the breeze_

_(Never the wind,_

_It’s never windy here.)_

_I don’t think I can sleep_

_In the too soft bed_

_In Bag End._

_The air is sweet_

_And light with victory_

_(Heavy with grief)_

_But I can still feel the heat_

_I can still feel the cold._

_Sometimes I wonder_

_If Sam,_

_With his astorias_

_And lilies_

_And peonies_

_(He’s always loved peonies)_

_Is the only place,_

_The only person_

_That is truly real._

_Has this crumbed beneath me?_

_Did it ever truly end?_

_Uncle,_

_Can you taste ash with each breath?_

Sometimes I wonder

If I ever truly left that mountain.

With gold puddling with every step

And tar burning against my face.

Was I buried in the stone?

Did I die kneeling in a pool of blood

That didn’t flow in my veins

But felt just like mine?

Dying doesn’t feel so daunting

When your sword glows blue

And it won’t feel like surrender.

But here?

With smooth wooden walls,

And a dirt up to my elbows?

It sits on my tongue

Like mithril

And ale

And the cresting sunrise

Over foreign treetops.

I want to tell you to hang on.

I want to tell you about the gardens I planted,

And the flowers that bloomed.

But I could never bring myself

To plant anything at all.

**Author's Note:**

> please leave a comment


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